Unlikely
by withered
Summary: "Let's assume for the moment that everyone here likes me." She snorted. "Ambitious, aren't we?"


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Unlikely

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Draco hated the Ministry which was irregular for someone with ambitious goals of effecting change in national security, though he supposed it wasn't entirely out of left field.

Even Saint Potter, child saviour of Magical Britain, had left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement shortly after his appointment as its new Head citing "irreconcilable differences" like he had filed for divorce; washing his hands clean of the debacle that was the discovery that his appointment had more to do with his famous reputation and less to do with him actually being good at his job. He seemed a better fit as Hogwarts' new DADA professor if the rumors were to be believed anyway so Draco supposed it all worked out for the best.

Besides the fact that corruption was very much ingrained within the Ministry's walls, the damned place just reminded him of the messy and _very_ _public_ affair that was his separation from his now ex-wife, Astoria Greengrass. That she had retained her cushy desk job position in the Department of Security despite abusing her powers in an attempt to catch him cheating on her – which he would like to assure, he did not – still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He had successfully avoided the building for almost a year since, and couldn't be enticed into it without the threat of either bodily harm or significant monetary gain.

Unfortunately for him, it was both.

The government, with their incompetent and ill-trained Aurors, couldn't be trusted to ensure the protection of the delegates and officials attending the event taking place in the Ministry's exotic garden atrium. The whole department practically went up in flames once Lady Bones retired, though Kingsley had done his best.

But, more business for Draco was never a bad thing.

And the hag had even given her blessing.

Not that he needed it, it was just his luck that his father had her over for a tete-a-tete, and Draco j _ust happened_ to be visiting that day as well. Of course, Lucius very rarely left anything to chance, and he likely just saw it as an opportunity to gloat that " _My son was personally contracted_ ," and,  
" _What do you think of that, Amelia?"_

He thought it vapid and pointless, but at least he knew for sure that he got his petty side from his father.

His mother, however, could never be left out of any scheme:

"There'll be so many suitable witches there, darling," she reminded yesterday evening as she fussed between which wizarding robes he should wear. Apparently, none of his usual ones would do, and she was already deciding on which shop to grace her patronage with to aid him, and oh – when was the last time he had a proper home cooked meal?

"Last Sunday when I came for supper," he replied patiently.

Predictably, she clucked in disapproval, and he settled into explaining to her _again_ that his presence at the Ministry's biggest social event of the year was entirely business.

"I'm aware, darling. But you're already twenty-eight; am I ever going to get a grandchild to spoil as much as I did you?"

"I don't even have a steady girlfriend, where on earth am I supposed to get you a grandchild from?"

"Well, I don't know," she huffed. "I thought that's what you were doing for the past few years – sowing your wild oats."

He grimaced. Like hell he'd ever leave anything like that up to chance, Astoria had terrified him right out of that arena.

His mother continued unperturbed, "Either way, you'll certainly find a suitable young lady tonight, I'm sure of it. There are so many eligible young ladies going you know!" And the look in her eye made it clear _there would be a suitable young lady visiting the Manor next Sunday if he knew what was good for him_ , making him grimace.

She too, would not leave it to chance.

Which left him in the unfortunate position he was currently in: Trying to do his job and cleverly escaping the witches his mother set on him like droves of angry howlers, he exhaled.

Dear Merlin, why didn't he just retire on some island with his inheritance while he still had the chance?

Ducking out of sight from a particularly overzealous congregation of heiresses, Draco slipped easily back into the main foyer where guests were still arriving.

In his ear, Adrian let him know that all sections of the atrium were covered, before snickering, "Of threats to the politicians, not you."

"You really should have brought someone with, you know, to act as a buffer for this mess," Blaise added.

"You could've asked Theo," Adrian continued, smirk in his voice, "I'm sure the Daily Prophet would up and die finding out you're bisexual."

"Pretty sure Longbottom would be put out that I stole his date," Draco retorted dryly, his gaze flitting almost lazily over the partygoers in attendance.

"He'd understand. Hey, Longbottom, can Malfoy borrow your boyfriend?" Blaise asked; there was a slight murmur in the background before the dark-skinned Italian let him know it was a negative. "You had all through school to seduce him, your time has passed," was the solemn message he relayed.

Adrian laughed his arse off making Draco rolled his eyes. Idiots.

A sudden movement caught his attention, and he murmured a distracted, "Hold on" before approaching.

There seemed to be a sort of confrontation going on, and people were already beginning to circle in usual spectator-sport fashion. At its epicenter: Granger, of course.

If anyone hated the Ministry more than him, it was her, except she had no choice in the matter of involving herself with its processes – and she didn't even have the big bank balance to show for it: The true distinction of a Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Still, purposely avoiding the monetary gain of political entanglements aside, Granger remained a force to be reckoned with.

Before Draco struck out on his own, he and Granger had trained and worked together in the Auror Academy. Swottiness or not, he couldn't deny how impressive she was – her dueling skills were next to none, and he was hard pressed to have anyone else watching his back on the field than her.

Bloody hell, he'd even offered her a position right out the gate when business was taking off and he could finally offer her a paycheck worth more than a pout, a purposely innuendo-ed plea of, " _For old time's sake, come on Granger, I'll make it good_ " and a guilt trip of, _"You said you believed in me"._

It was probably for the best.

Not a year later, Granger was not only the youngest department head but the first muggle-born on top of that. Of course, by then she made her interest known and changed career paths to the Department of Magical Creatures, and Draco found himself unsurprised as to why she had turned down his job offer.

Her pedigree, ambition and focus hardly required assistance from the _spoilt-little-rich-boy that used to pull her pigtails in school_ to get where she needed to go, and he supposed that was why the uppity pure-blood circles shunned her still. There was no way Granger would give up her career to marry someone with the intention of keeping her in their estate, barefoot and pregnant.

Not to mention, the pure-blood heiresses were flat out scared of her.

"You shatter a greenhouse during a tea-party when the guests take Theo's coming out badly, one time, and suddenly you're a-a-a witch!" Granger had lamented when she, Theo and Neville popped over after said event, drunk off their arses and feeling the need to involve him in their pact of social suicide.

And that's when Draco was hit with a bright spark of inspiration:

"Granger, there you are," he declared, calling attention to himself and entering the fray.

Wands weren't drawn yet which was a plus, he had to give Granger credit for the self-control especially considering she was just about to verbally (perhaps physically, that punch she landed on him in Third Year was never too far from his mind) eviscerate David Jones. As bland as the Ministry official's name was, he had a reputation for putting his hands in places they shouldn't which made Granger's seething all the more justified. Great.

"If you excuse us, Jones, I've been looking for this brilliant witch for hours now." Without waiting for a reply, he tugged Granger away from the drama which – with wizarding cameras aimed and ready at every turn – she had no choice but to follow through with.

When they finally got some distance, she hissed, "Malfoy, what the hell was that for?"

"Just doing my job, Granger."

She restrained the urge to scowl as a wizarding camera flashed in the corner of her vision. "I can handle myself."

His arm, still tucked snuggly around her waist as he led her toward the exotic atrium, loosened only slightly as he drawled, "Personal opinion, I'm sure, Granger. But I, for one, would rather not risk a national scandal when he attempts to put his hand up your dress."

Hermione snorted. "As if he'd ever get near that point."

"Precisely why I removed you from the situation," he reasoned, "it wouldn't do to have you set a man on fire at the biggest social event in magical parliament. He barely has hair, and you want to strip him of his dignity too?" He tsked. "I thought you kinder."

"And I thought you didn't care for this 'frivolous affair in arse-kissing," she retorted, arms crossed and brow arched in challenge. Ah, their days of being in the same department always gave him a tingle of nostalgia.

"Well," he drawled once more, openly leering at her, "you're wearing that dress. What choice did you give me?" And really, she was something special in a decadently luscious green robe; all shoulders and bared collarbone with just a hint of cleavage, and – Merlin – where did that endlessly long leg come from? That open slit? "You're going to give these bastards a heart attack."

Despite the flush of embarrassment, she managed to retort furiously, "Oh, sod off, Malfoy." Just as she was ready to storm passed him, he looped his arm around hers and she circled around him instead as a result. She narrowed her eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I need a favor."

The suspicion and annoyance morphed into confusion before she tilted her head just slightly. "From me?"

"I'm asking you, aren't I?"

As usual, Granger smarted, "I don't recall hearing you ask at all; least of all why you think I'd help you."

Well, that was true.

Granted, they were more friends now than they ever were in school, and with at least five years in the same department, it would be a feat on its own if they _didn't_ get along. But also – he did still purposely annoy her horrendously, and technically the only reason they interacted outside of work was because of Theo and Neville.

Before Draco could even consider just shrugging her off with a "fine, I'll ask someone else", there was that high pitched giggling that he could feel grating into his ears from just beyond his shoulder. In his ear, Adrian echoed the sentiment, "Hopeful Wifey Number Three coming in hot!"

Only muttering a curse, he led Granger away, and whether it was due to her curiosity or her confusion, she let him until they were standing partially hidden by some odd plant with leaves that fell like a pink foam curtain.

Receiving an unimpressed eye-brow arch from the witch, Draco huffed out a breath through his nose. "Let's assume for the moment that everyone here likes me."

She snorted. "Ambitious, aren't we?"

"Hah-hah," he deadpanned. "I need your charming self to keep them away."

"You couldn't have gotten a date for yourself to do that for you?"

"Why do you think I'm asking you?"

Granger rolled her eyes. "You're a real catch, Malfoy." When she made a move to walk away, he winced, pulling her back in again with a defeated, "What do I need to do to get you to help me?"

For a second, Draco thought she'd refuse, but then she eyed him – and he could practically see her brilliant mind tick-tick-ticking away at the possibilities.

"I've got the might of the Malfoy name and a practically bottomless vault, there's got to be something," he encouraged. He was never above bribery to get his way after all, and Granger's far too good-hearted to well and truly take advantage of him (or anyone) anyway.

"An IOU," she eventually decided.

See, goody-goody Granger never fails. "Perfect," he exhaled, withholding the urge to physically sag in relief. "Whenever you need a favor, I've got you. Anything, in particular, I should be looking out for?"

"You'll know," Granger replied with a shrug. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

She seemed to be a perfect charm, like anti-heiress repellent.

They parted like the sea at the sight of them and seemed to bow their heads in reverence whichever direction Granger glanced.

It was actually awe-inspiring.

"I'm going to need like a miniature version of you to keep on me at all times to keep them away," he mused, passing her a flute of champagne.

Granger snorted. "Why are they so hell-bent on you anyway?" To which he cut an offended glance her way, ignoring Blaise and Adrian's peals of laughter in his ear. "Oh," she waved off. "So you're good looking, single and rich, you aren't the only one, you know."

"Name my equal," he retorted.

To her credit, she did at least look to be considering it before she decided, "Viktor Krum."

"He's only four years older than us, and already looks like he's on the wrong side of forty," he deadpanned. "And let's not forget the incident when he took a demiguise as his date to an event about protecting magical creatures from the _unsavory attentions of wizards_."

"Alright fine, he may have hit his head one too many times playing Quidditch," she allowed, "but in his prime!"

"Excuse me; I'm always in my prime. If he needs a break to be awesome, he's no equal of mine."

"Theo -"

"Is gay, and no one could turn him if they tried," he said, before rolling his eyes heavenward as the slough of memories hit him. "And oh, have they tried." Damn Theodore's sexual preferences, at least if he had an inclination towards vaginas too, maybe then Draco wouldn't have to deal with this by himself.

"Zabini," she decided, causing Draco to scoff. "Luna doesn't even have a leash on him and he still doesn't stray."

And though Blaise protested in his ear, and then threatened to leave the job right now amidst Adrian's howls, Blaise eventually did take over security duties as the night wore on, and Draco got rid of the charm that kept their lines of communication open.

Draco himself didn't even need to be there to supervise, but being physically present was always a good way to market the business, the Guard was always open to offering personal protection services to anyone willing to pay the fee. Their clientele was exclusive, which was just another way to say small, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"You know, you could have just stayed in the department," Granger pointed out.

"And miss out on my mortgage payments?" he feigned shock.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I'm just saying the Aurors have become considerably less impressive since you left. I heard that you were first picked for department head before Harry, but by then you decided to go private and Kingsley pushed his retirement back another two years waiting for Harry to be ready and we both know what became of that."

He'd heard, but he shrugged, careful not to jostle her hand on his shoulder. They fell into the step of the dance they ended up committing to once one of the heiresses got a little too confident and attempted to flirt up a storm with him while Granger was standing right there.

And while he found her flash of jealousy amusing and flattering in equal measure, Draco also wasn't going to take the risk of her shattering the glass in the atrium like she did with the greenhouse. Neville would be very upset for an entirely different reason.

"State of national security notwithstanding," he began, "being an Auror wasn't for me; the politics were grating, and half the people we ended up having to protect were arseholes. At least this way I'll actually have a life and gold in my vault."

"Can't say I know how that feels," Granger remarked with a snicker. "The only reason Ginny managed to get me in this damn dress was because I've been sleep deprived since we graduated from the Academy, and the only reason I even own the damn thing was because I was drunk enough to think -" She cut herself off with a snort.

"Think?" he prompted, raising a brow.

"Think that Ronald would notice."

"Merlin help you, you can't still be on that," Draco groaned.

He'd seen enough of the tabloids to know that the high school sweethearts were constantly on and off again.

Draco had just assumed that with age Granger would realize that Weasel's lack of motivation and desire to see the brilliant witch he somehow managed to entrap into the barefoot-and-pregnant scenario; wasn't worth the drama and find someone who actually deserved her.

"I wasn't trying to get him back, I swear," she defended quickly, before laughing at his expression of disbelief. "I was feeling petty and thought he'd notice enough to regret it."

"And did he?"

She squeezed his hip where her other hand lay and nudged her chin subtly against his shoulder. "You tell me."

His brow didn't waver even as he turned his head slightly, and caught sight of Weasley eying them by the refreshment table. He was in the Department of Sports and Recreation and they, fortunately, had little reason to come into contact during Draco's tenure in the Ministry, even with Granger dating Weasel on occasion.

There was no reason to believe their disagreements in school had dissolved over time, after all, he was going visibly redder every time Draco _accidentally_ let his hand stray a little lower than necessary on Granger's back.

The redhead was going to pop a blood vessel if Granger got any closer to him, though, Draco could very nearly get there himself.

How had he spent almost their entire acquaintance and not realized how amazing Granger smelled? What was that, jasmine and vanilla, or Amortentia?

"Why Granger," he mused, lips practically mussing her dark hair, "are you using me?"

"You do owe me," she reminded tartly. Catching his eye from the corner of hers, there was a sort of delighted mischief in her gaze as she added, "And you seem to like being used."

"Oh, you have no idea," he drawled with a smirk. "How bad was this breakup?"

Granger shrugged. "He slept with some slag from the Quidditch cheerleading line-up, apparently she's pregnant and it's his." He hissed a breath through his teeth, but her tone remained careless, "This is definitely the last time."

"I think you said that the last two times too," Draco pointed out, though clearly, this was different. He couldn't even believe the gall of that fucking Weasel. It was one thing to break up over not communicating enough, but entirely another to betray someone's trust. Draco could admit he was an arse and he took his fair share of the blame when he and Astoria used to fight, but he'd never cheat – no matter what she believed.

"I mean it, though," Granger said firmly. "I don't even know why I kept going back before, probably because it was comfortable, and he had me believing that I was difficult to love which – you know, isn't entirely wrong, but part of loving someone is not making them feel like that ."

His grip tightened on her, however unintentionally, even as he snarled, "Weasley wouldn't know a good thing if it tackled him to the floor."

"It doesn't matter," she decided with a shrug. "In any case, looking like this is the first and last fuck-you I've got to give him."

Draco huffed out a surprised breath, and she noticed, arching a brow. "What?"

"Nothing, that was just unexpectedly hot."

"What?" she repeated, withdrawing just enough that he got the full effect of her laugh – all sparkling eyes and white grin, and then she was trying to contain her giggles by catching her lower lip between her teeth and _you should let me do that –_

He shrugged helplessly, ignoring the light blush on his cheeks. "Just – never heard you swear before." And wow – why was he suddenly getting visions of her breathy _fuck, fuck fuck_ s? He's been celibate since the divorce, but he didn't need to get laid _that badly_ did he? He cleared his throat. "So," he said despite himself, "want to up the ante?"

"What do you have in mind?"

 _No, Brain – don't – you're stronger than our hormones!_

A hum passed through his lips before he moved her easily in his arms until they were chest to chest – and with the help of her heels – also with less of a distance between her mouth and his.

"Give it at least ten seconds," he murmured, lips just barely – _barely_ – brushing hers. "Weasel'll pop so fast he'll hit the ceiling."

"He'll punch you in the throat," she said with some warning but that glint in her eyes was just daring him to push, a quirk at her lips threatening to tug into a smile.

"Don't worry; I'll defend your honor."

Her huff of a laugh tickled his tongue, and when he swiped it against his lip, she followed the movement with that same focus she was famed for before swallowing noticeably.

His body, fully intent on raising a mutiny (among other things), cupped a hand behind her neck and closed the distance, pressing chastely against hers – giving her enough space to back out if she wished – if this was too much.

One beat. Two.

They pulled away, and her expression – eyes still bright – pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed, Draco was tempted to repeat the action until, at the lengthening silence between them – no more than a second or two in real life – he felt some panic rising in his chest as the rush of adrenaline grew loud in his ears.

Though, when Granger finally opened her mouth to speak, she was cut off by a rather unholy noise of a banshee, or rather – the heiresses, bounding on top of Weasley and effectively stopping him from coming over and disturbing them.

"You know," Draco found himself saying, "I'm starting to think they're actually more in love with you than they are with me." Casting her a smile, because, how was he expected to smirk with her looking at him like that? He added, "Can't say I blame them."

 **A/n: This story isn't beta-ed so apologies for any errors. Also, I had no idea how I wanted to end this so yeah – you guys are stuck with this. This story is also available on ao3 under the same name and under the same pen-name, just because I wanted to give it a try on a different platform. Let me know what you think.**


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